


Sherlock and the Chocolate Factory

by Chibifukurou



Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibifukurou/pseuds/Chibifukurou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John was a little boy the fairy tales he liked best were the ones his Grandpa Charlie told him about Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.</p><p>He never expected to grow up and meet the next heir to the Chocolate Factory. Sometimes he wished he never had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock and the Chocolate Factory

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [aur_in_hue](http://aur-in-hue.livejournal.com/profile) for trying to beta my story. I hope your computer gets fixed and I'm sorry we weren't able to finish working on this fic together. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This story was written for personal enjoyment and entertainment purposes.

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Prologue  
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When I was a little boy I loved Grandpa Charlie best of all. He'd tell the best stories about a magic man and his wonderful factory. Mountains of ice cream and rivers of chocolate. Long after Harry had grown out of wanting stories from Grandpa I'd still ask for him to tell me of the magic man, Willy, and all the amazing things Grandpa had done when he'd been a child.

I lied to fall asleep to his stories so that I could be sure to dram about living in the factory. I loved the adventures I had while I was asleep, playing with the Oompa Loompas, helping Willy with his experiments, and just exploring all the amazing places the excised within Grandpa's stories.

Back then I couldn't imagine a better life. Or one I'd rather live. I couldn’t understand how Grandpa Charlie could have ever given it up. It wasn't until years later that I learned the price you had to pay if you wanted to live a life of adventure.

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Grandpa Charlie's funeral was held on a bitingly cold day. He would have hated it and tried to bundle me up in at least five layers. Instead I was in a thin black suit, that was two sizes too small and my Sunday coat. My toes felt like they were going to fall off between the tightness of my Sunday shoes and the cold.

Mamma kept a tight grip on my wrist to keep me from wiggling away and going back to the car. I didn't want to stand there in the falling snow and watch his casket lowered into the ground. I'd seen him laying in the casket, before they sealed it up and it looked like he was just sleeping. It felt wrong seeing him go away like this no matter how many times Momma tried to explain it. I knew he was dead but I just didn't understand why we couldn't put him in a glass casket like Snow White.

He was a fairy tale prince after all.

I thought that Grandma must feel the same way. She was crying as he was lowered into the ground. When the pastor motioned for us to throw our flowers into the casket. Momma, Daddy, Harry, and I threw our flowers in. While Momma wasn't looking I threw a Wonka bar in as well. Gandpa would have liked it.

Then it was Grandma's turn. She reached into the large purse she'd brought and pulled out a handful of Chocolate drops and scattered them over the casket, to mix with the snowflakes that continued to fall.

"Mother!" Mama hissed.

But Grandma acted like she couldn't hear. I pulled my hand out of Mama's grasp so that I could go over and hold Gram's hand.

The rest of the funeral went by without incident and soon enough we were able to head back to the cars. I held Grandma's hand the whole way, hoping to get into the warmth as soon as possible.

A flash of purple caught the corner of my eye. I turned to look and saw a tall man in a purple tailcoat and top hat. He walked towards the casket, and dropped a bouquet of flowers on top of it. They were all brown and if I guessed right about who it was then I would just bet that they were made of chocolate.

I tugged on the back of Grandma's coat . "Grandma, grandma! Quick look!"

"What is it, John?"

"It's Willy!" "Where?"

We both spun to look where I'd seen him, but he wasn't there. There was just the blowing snow. "I don't – he was just there." Grandma pressed a kiss to my head. "It's alright dear, we're all upset about your Grandfather."

I wanted to argue, but I couldn't. There was no way for me too prove that I had seen Willy. After all he was just a story, right?

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Over the following years, I forgot about my Grandfather's stories. I had other things on my mind. Bigger problems than whether there was a magic man who'd once known my grandfather.

Harry grew up and discovered that she loved girls. I was supposed to be the dutiful son, the one who'd make up for what my parents' considered 'her failings'. I was supposed to give them grandchildren, become some famous doctor and support them in their old age. I didn't know how to explain to them that I wanted something different. Something they couldn't even seem to imagine.

Harry hated me for supporting my parents attempts to hide her away. Or whatever it was she thought I was doing by playing the perfect son. I didn't know how to explain to her that I would have gladly been like her if I'd known how to, but I couldn’t bear to make our parents angry. I hated fighting.

The years passed and my parent's marriage started to disintegrate. They blamed each other for Harry, for our money problems, for everything. And both of them were sure that I could see why they hated the other.

Finally I'd had enough, more than. I couldn't stand it anymore. One night, during a particularly cold family dinner, I snapped. Not like Harry had, coming home drunk from a party and shouting that she loved Clara Morestead and there was nothing my parents could do about it. No, I was too level-headed for that.

I put my fork down quietly, just like normal and then in the calmest voice I could manage I said. "Mother, Father, I want you to know that I am not your daughter."

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They objected of course, but they couldn’t really force use to stay. We'd both just turned sixteen and while we weren't yet adults it was summer hols, and they were too busy fighting with each other to think of any reason for us to stay.

In the end it was Harry who raised the only real objection to my plan. "I'm not going to Grandma Jane's." "Why not? It's better than staying here."

"Oh yeah, living in a country cottage with a batty old woman is so much better than spending the summer in the city, where you can at least hang out with your friends."

'And go partying' was implied. Since that was what she did when she got together with friends, but she was young and Clara always looked after her, so at least I knew she wouldn't get herself into any real trouble. "I'm not leaving you here alone with Mom and Dad." If I did she'd likely get herself thrown out for good before the hols were over."

"And I'm not going to stay with Grandma Jane. So you'll just have to deal with it, or give up on this ridiculous attempt at being rebellious." She threw herself down on my bed in a dramatic sprawl. "If running away to grandmother's house can even be called rebelling."

"I'll drop you of at Clara's house and tell Mom you with me if she calls, if that's what you want." I didn't like the idea of her being alone, without me to watch out for her, for that long, but it was a better option than having her stay at the house.

She flipped over so that she could stare at me. "You'd do that?"

"If that's what it takes for you to leave with me, then yes I will."

"Wow, you actually are getting a rebellious streak." She breathed out in an awed tone.

I ignored her and kept packing.

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I dropped Harry off at Clara's house, only staying long enough to get a reassuring nod from Clara herself, letting me know that she'd look after my baby sister for me.

It wasn't quite as reassuring as having Harry come with him to Grandma Jane's but at least I could be sure she'd stay here.

If I'd tried to force her to come with me, I had no doubt that I'd spend half the summer hols chasing her down and dragging her back to the house when she got herself into some kind of trouble.

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It was a two hour drive to get to Grandma Jane's house. My parents had been trying to convince her to leave the little converted cottage behind and move to the big city. Instead of staying in a little hamlet' who's biggest industry was a factory that had been shut down for years.

I had never wanted her to move, I loved the shabby little cottage with it's rough hewn walls and hug downstairs room. The converted loft was my favorite place to sleep back when I'd been small enough to do so. Now I was forced to sleep in one of the small guest rooms that had been built off the main room, but he still loved the little home.

Grandma Jane welcomed me with open arms and affectionate kisses acting as though I'd always been planning to spend the summer with her, instead of just calling last minute a week before. It was a balm against my nerves, stretched tight from trying to hold my family together.

"It's so good to see you, John. It's just been too quiet since your Grandfather passed on."

"I'm glad you could have me Grandma Jane. It's been too long since we were able to spend some time together."

"Since your mother and father got upset over being left out of your grandfather's will, I believe."

I ducked my head, a blush coming to his cheeks. I wouldn't have put it quite that bluntly. "Did you need help making dinner?" I asked instead of commenting on her sadly true comment. "I didn't mean to arrive so late but the traffic was bad coming into town." He couldn't imagine why the road had been clogged with large, purple delivery trucks, but then it wasn't rally his business.

"Yes, yes. I suppose it would be." Grandma Jane nodded her head, obviously missing my prompt to explain the situation further.

I let it go. "Did you need help?"

"I'll be fine dear, why don't you just go ahead and put your bags away, I made the second guest room up for you."

"Thank you." It was the one Harry and I usually shared when they came for a visit. The first guest room being the one with a large king sized bed where his mother and father stayed. I headed down the hall towards the room.

"And make sure you wash up too! Dinner is in half an hour." She yelled after me. The rattling of pans and dishes a comforting background noise. I could already feel the exhaustion, I'd been holding off by sheer force of will, creeping up on me.

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I spent most of the first week sleeping late and taking naps between tea and dinner. I'd have been embarrassed about it if I hadn't been too tired and Grandma Jane hadn't forbore to comment.

Of course the fact that she basically kicked me out of the house the next Monday after breakfast, certainly made up for her understanding.

I couldn't decide whether I should be amused or insulted that I'd been sent out like a recalcitrant toddler

There really wasn't that much to do in town, but I did his best to find ways to amuse myself. I spent mornings in the local library and afternoons exploring.

It was on one of his exploration trips that I finally got a good look at the supposedly closed factory. More importantly I got a good look at the large gold and purple sign that hung over the front gate. "Wonka and Bucket's Chocolate factory."

I stood there staring at it for what half like hours, but was probably closer to a fifteen minutes. I hadn't thought about them in years, but I still vividly recalled Grandpa Charlie's stories about Willy Woka's Chocolate Factory.

I'd thought that was all they were. Amusing stories to help put me and Harry to sleep, but here was proof that they were more than stories. I still didn't believe the tales of chocolate rivers and ice-cream mountains, but it was obvious that there was some truth to the tales.

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I squeezed through the bars and into the factory's large, front loading area. The factory itself was a huge, brick building that looked large enough that you could have fit dozens, maybe even hundreds of my grandmother's modest cottages into it.

Now that I was paying attention I could see that all of the dozens of chimneys were belching out thick, sweet smelling smoke. So obviously, the factory wasn't completely shut down. Though it certainly didn't look like the whimsical place that my Grandfather used to go on about.

I approached it slowly, on the lookout for any security guards, but there didn't appear to be any. This place just kept getting stranger and stranger.

When I got to the purple door, next to the loading bay, it swung open of its own accord. Still feeling cautious I stuck my head in slowly, just peaking around the door's edge, but there was nothing to see, except a long hallway that lead down and down. Until it finally disappeared from sight. The door seemed to have opened itself.

The smart thing to do would have been to turn around and go back to Grandma Jane's house and act like this had never happened, but I was a logical young man, not a smart one. The hint of adventure sent adrenaline racing through my veins and I stepped into the hallway as though I had every right to be there.

That lasted until I was five steps in and the door slammed shut behind me. Then I was too busy clawing at the door, which in addition to an ability to open itself, appeared to have decided that it didn't need a knob on the inside.

So eventually I had no choice but to give up and head onwards, and downwards.

It felt like it took my hours to walk down that hallway, but it could just have easily been only a handful of minutes. My nerves were strung tight and I kept a tight grasp on my pocket knife the whole time. Finally, I reached a large door with a bronze sign mounted on it that read 'Candy Meadow'. Just like something out of one of Grandpa Charlie's stories.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out and slowly turned the knob before pushing the door open.

To reveal a large meadow, echoing with the sound of a waterfall, and a man in a tail coat. The very same man I'd seen all those years ago, at Grandpa Charlie's funeral.

He gave me a large, twinkle-eyed grin, and tipped his hat. "Hello John Watson, and welcome to my Factory."

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Part 2  
After The Great Game  
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"My spies have failed."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Sherlock!" I croaked out. I still felt absolutely retched after my headfirst tumble into the pool, saving Sherlock's stupid life. That wasn't being totally fair to him of course. It wasn't like he'd asked me to save his life. But itf anything he had only made me angrier. Didn't he understand that he was everything to me? Of course not this was Sherlock after all.

He gave me a dirty look, but at least attempted to be somewhat civil to Mycroft. Thought I had no doubt that if I fell asleep and wasn't watching they'd start sniping at each other again. "What are you going to do about your spy network?"

"See that they are properly trained to deal with people at Moriarty's level of genius."

"He's not a genius." Sherlock slumped into his chair like a petulant child, arms crossed and lower lip jutting out. "He's an evil mastermind."

"One that managed to outsmart you, dear brother. If he's not a genius then I don't see how you can claim the title." He smirked at Sherlock in a way that was almost infuriating to me. An impressive feat since I was still high as a kite on the 'good' pain killers.

"He outsmarted you as well. Does that mean that you aren't a genius either?"

Never mind, it seemed they would snipe at each other even when I was awake." Mycro—" I was about to snap at him not to set Sherlock off, but of course he paid as little attention to me as Sherlock did.

"If you recall I said that he was a genius. You are the one who disputed the title."

"So you're only calling him a genius to make yourself feel better."

They were facing each other over my hospital bed now and I could see them itching for their violin and umbrella to complete the picture. I wasn't in the mood to put up with it. While they were busy with each other, I reached under my blanket and pressed the call button.

The stout, head nurse bustled into the room within a minute of my hitting the button. Apparently getting shot in the gut while saving the life of a Government official's little brother had its perks. She took one look at the Holmes brother and had them both out on their ear before either of them knew what hit them.

I would have laughed at the look on Sherlock's face, and the knowing eyebrow Mycroft raised at me, if I hadn't been so exhausted that I was half-asleep by the time the nurse came back from escorting them out of the room. She gave me a motherly pat on the cheek before turning out the light and leaving me to my rest.

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~~~~

Being back at 221 B Baker street should have been more restful. I'd never been able to sleep well in a hospital unless heavily medicated. Which had made the last three days of my hospital stay and absolute nightmare. I'd been all for escaping the place as soon as my doctor allowed it. I'd have tried to sneak away earlier and sign myself out against Doctor's orders, but every time I tried I found Anthea camped outside of my hospital room.

So I'd stayed. Now I almost wished I'd stayed longer. Instead of being able to collapse into my bed to sleep for sixteen hours, I had to stay on the couch while Sherlock ranted on about Moriarty and Mycroft's making it so that he couldn't investigate him fully.

I was extremely grateful for that and planned to tell Mycroft so the next time he kidnapped me for a little chat. I'd been worried about what he would get up to without supervision. And it made me feel better to know that I wasn't the only one Mycroft had been keeping an eye on. Finally, I was just too tired to put up with Sherlock's ranting anymore. Standing up, I headed for the stairs up to my bedroom. Dodging around Sherlock before he could protest.

Once I was in my room. I locked the door and since Sherlock was the type to pick said lock, I shoved my bureau in front of the door. Hopefully he wouldn't be crazy enough to set fire to the flat so that I had to come down. Whoever was watching the flat for Mycroft should stop him if he tried.

I woke up in the middle of the afternoon, the following day. To the sound of Sherlock's shrieking violin. Mycroft must have come for a visit. Pulling a thick jumper over my sleep pants, I shoved the bureau until I could squeeze out of the door and headed for the bathroom for morning ablution.

By the time I'd finished and made it to living room, only Sherlock and a brightly colored basket were in residence. "Did Mycroft already leave?"

He narrowed his eyes at me over the basket's handle, before returning his attentions to trying to get one of the brightly wrapped packages out it. He didn't seem to be having any luck of it. I stared at it trying to figure out if it was some sort of bomb in disguise, but that didn't seem likely. Surely Mycroft's people wouldn't be that incompetent. Still. "What's in the basket."

"I don't know."

Well that wasn't helpful and no doubt Sherlock wouldn't think it was important to explain how he could not know. Because that would be boring, and potentially embarrassing. "Who sent it?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know? Didn't you see the person who brought it."

"No." Now he was angry.

Personally I was nervous. I would say scared, but that didn't seem like the proper adjective to use. Even if it was the correct one. I was a soldier though, I wasn't supposed to get scared by a basket. Even if I had been kidnapped and had a vest packed with Symtac strapped to my chest. "Did you ask your brother to come look at it? Or send one of his people."

"I can figure it out on my own."

Of course he could. "Is it likely to explode in the next fifteen minutes? Or do I have time to make tea and have some beans on toast?"

He waved a hand vaguely in my direction, before collapsing to the sofa with a huff. Crossing his eyes and glaring at the basket as though it had mortally offended him. He probably thought it made him look intimidating, like when he went flapping about in that stupidly big coat of his. It didn't. It just made him look like Harry had when we were kids and she hadn't gotten the present she'd wanted for Christmas. Which meant the basket wasn't from Moriarty.

If that was the case then I should have plenty of time to get my mid-afternoon snack. I didn't want to have to deal with this mess until I had my morning tea.

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~~~~

The basket was still sitting on the coffee table unopened when I got back from the kitchen. I sat in my armchair, chewing thoughtfully on my toast and beans, as I stared at it. Trying to figure out why Sherlock hadn’t opened it yet. It wasn’t like he had ever respected my mail before.

I got my answer when Sherlock swept back into the room, bathrobe flapping. He had a long pair of metal tongs with which he attempted to unwrapped the large, spotted bow that held the cellophane in place.  
There was a crackle of static electricity and his hair stood on end until he dropped the tongs.

I chewed on my toast and watched as Sherlock collapsed back to the couch and popped a finger into his mouth. He was such a toddler at heart.

“You do realize that it’s the height of madness to keep doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.”

He transferred his glare from the basket to me. “It doesn’t make sense.”

I went back to munching on my bread and left him to his huff. He stole my flag pillow and cuddled it too his chest in revenge. Averting my eyes I forced my mouth into a straight line. It would only make Sherlock more insufferable if I told him he looked adorable like that. “How do you know that Moriarty didn’t send the basket? He’s usually the only one who can outsmart you.”

“It didn’t outsmart me.”

I munched my toast instead of replying sarcastically like I wanted to. “Moriarty?”

“If it was a message from Moriarty there would have been a body attached.”

That was enough to ruin my appetite. I might not have a problem with death in theory or in practice but my memories of being one of Moriarty’s messages were still too close to the surface. Dropping my crust onto the plate I headed back into the kitchen to make another cup of tea.

“John!”

The plate slipped, almost hitting the sink before I grabbed it. “What?”

“Come open the basket.”

“I’m busy Sherlock.”

“Joooohnnnn.”

“No Sherlock.” I made sure to take an extra long time washing the plate thoroughly and pouring my cup of tea. Sherlock kept sighing but I just ignored him. He could be such a baby sometimes.

Once I figured he’d stewed enough to get the idea that I wasn’t going back into the living room just to please him, but not long enough for him to descend into a full-fledged snit, I headed back to my armchair.

Sherlock was still sulking on the couch, pouting and cuddling my pillow.

“So are you ready to see what’s in the basket.”

“I guess, if you want to open it.”

I snorted, but didn’t let his apparent apathy keep me from grabbing the bow and tugging it lose. It was so like him to get all excited and then act like the idea had been mine first.

He leaned in to watch as I folded the cellophane so that I could reach into the basket. And pull out a Wonka bar. The label was retro, just like the ones Willy had used when I was still staying with him. It took me back to the few, happy years I’d spent at the Factory before I’d gone off to Medical school.  
“Chocolate?”

“What’s wrong with that?” I kept pulling out candies. Three packs of Full meal gum, in my favorite flavors and a tin full of his Feel-better hot chocolate powder. There were also some plain candies and truffles that I could share with Sherlock. If he daned to eat anything so boring.

At the bottom of the basket there was a card. Written in Willy’s spiky script and in his usually style. ‘Heard you were hurt. Candy will make you feel better –WW.”

“Chocolates are boring.” Sherlock grabbed the basket, cellophane, and bow once I’d finished emptying it out. Trying to figure out how Willy had kept him from opening the basket would at least keep him busy and out of my hair for a while.

A blessing, since I doubted Mycroft’s surveillance men would be letting us out of the house any time soon. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate.” A few doses of Willy’s feel-better chocolate and we’d both be up and ready to handle Moriarty when he showed up again.

“I don’t want chocolate.”

“Too bad. You’ll drink it. Doctor’s orders.”

He huffed, but I knew he’d drink it.

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~~~~

When I went back to bed, a few hours later, he’d drunk three cups of the cocoa. I even caught him sneaking into the kitchen to make himself a mug. I’d have to write Willy a thank you letter. It was the most I’d managed to get him eat or drink since the pool.

I got woken up that night by Mrs. Hudsons’ screams.

Rolling out of the bed I grabbed my service Revolver out of the nightstand drawer and ran for the stairs. Leaving the safety on I ran down the stairs, heading for the front door. By the time I got there, Sherlock was already poling at the dead body that had ended up on our front step.

I left him too it and went to check on Mrs. Hudson, who had made it too her doilies covered floral sofa before collapsing. She had a hand pressed to her breast and was breathing hard. Her skin was pale. I grabbed her thin wrist and checked her pulse, fast but not near the danger level. “You stay here Mrs. Hudson and I’ll go get you a cup of tea.”

“And maybe some of my herbal soothers, there’s a dear.” She patted my hand absent-mindedly while staring at the door that led from her living room into the entry hall.

“Do you mind keeping an eye on Sherlock for me?”

“Of course not Dear.” I patted her hand and went to get her tea and herbal soothers.

She was wrapped in a blanket when I came back. While Sherlock stared through the door to the hallway.

I pressed the mug into her hands and she managed a weak smile.

Sidling up to Sherlock, I asked, “What’s with the blanket.”

“It’s for shock. Blanket’s are good for shock.”

Well that made about as much sense as anything else Sherlock came up with in that brain of his. “Was it Moriarty?”

He nodded.

“Have you heard from Mycroft’s men.”

“No.”

“Do you think they’re dead?”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay, so do you think he sent a bomb in addition to the body or do we have time to call you brother or Lestrade and get this taken care of?”

He handed a note to me. I picked it up by the edge trying to avoid the blood stains. “Be seeing you soon –Jim”

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~~~~

“I want to move you.”

“To where?” Sherlock forced a particularly painful screech out of his violin. “If Moriarty could get past your security to plant a dead body on our doorstep what makes you think he won’t be able to find us wherever we go.” He swung his bow around to point at his brother’s face. “You have a mole.”

“Sherlock!” I admonished. Handing a mug of hot cocoa to the siblings and putting a plate of truffles on the table between, and to the side, of their respective armchairs.

“What? It’s true.” He started plucking at his violin.

Mycroft grabbed a truffle off the plate and popped it into his mouth. He gave a hum of pleasure and his eyes slid partially shut.

“I see you’ve decided to let yourself go again.”

“Sherlock!”

Dropping the second truffle he’d grabbed, back onto the plate, Mycroft brought his umbrella up to rest across his lap with his hands folded on top.

“I have to admit that I don’t know where to send you, but you can’t stay here and Moriarty’s network spreads across all of England.”

“We’re not going to America.”

If it had been anyone but Mycroft I would have said he looked guilty. The brothers resorted to a staring contest, and I was just beginning to think about leaving them to it, when my phone’s message alert went off.

The Holmes’ turned to stare at me as I fished it out from the couch cushions. Where I’d forgotten it after hiding it from Sherlock, earlier that evening. ‘You can stay here –WW’

“Who was that?”

“Hmm, Oh it’s my grandfather.” Old friend? What would be a good way to explain Willy to two extremely logical geniuses.

“You don’t have a Grandfather.” Mycroft said.

“At least not a living Grandfather. Yours died when you were a child.”

I rolled my eyes. “My adoptive Grandfather.”

They shared a look. I still trying to figure out how to explain things when Mycroft and Sherlock’s phones went off. I moved to stand behind Sherlock’s chair, so that I could read his phone over his shoulder.

‘Have a safe place for you –WW’

“How did he do that?” Sherlock asked, already moving to take apart his phone.

I snorted, already planning to tell Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard about this. They’d get a laugh at somebody finally managing to one up Sherlock when it came to text message hijinks.

Mycroft was handling things with more apomp, he was texting a reply. I was already dreading the tricks the two of them would get up to together.

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~~~~

Mycroft tripled security after that and we didn’t get any more signs or messages from Moriarty, though I got the feeling that it was because he had lost interest in us, and not any fear of Mycroft’s security forces.

I had my doubts that Moriarty even knew how to feel fear. In the army you learned to spot the crazy ones early on. They were the most likely members of any platoon to get their fellow soldiers killed. Not because of stupidity or carelessness, but because they’d take whatever risks they had to get the blood they wanted.

Sherlock had a little of that in him, but Moriarty was far, far worse.

It only took Mycroft three days to make arrangements with Willy for us to be transferred to the Factory.  
I was curious what Willy had done to gain his trust that fast, but not curious enough to ask.

Willy rarely took a shine to an adult, and Mycroft often smelled of chocolate’ something Sherlock didn’t seem to mind teasing him endlessly about’ I had every reason to believe that Willy’s interest might be less than platonic. I didn’t want to think about my Grandmother/Grandfather having sex. Much less with my partners elder brother.

I’d been expecting Sherlock to confirm m suspicious one way or the other, but he either remained oblivious, doubtful, or he was actually worried about Mycroft’s privacy (Unheard of).

Either way we ended up packed and sitting on the front stoop of 221B Baker street soon enough. This time instead of a snowstorm Mycroft’s black sedan came to pick us up.

Sherlock eyed it in distaste and I wasn’t much better. Bombs made you look at things completely differently and Mycroft’s car didn’t look that much different from the one Moriarty had used.  
Sherlock lightly touched the back of my jumper and guided me down the steps and to the car. The contact was barely more than a tickle of pressure but it was more than enough. Knowing Sherlock as I did and knowing that he wouldn’t have touched me at all if he hadn’t cared for me.

We climbed in. Only to find the back seat empty. Not even Mycroft’s multi-named secretary to keep us company. “Do you think something happened?”

“My brother is just being shy. He gets like this when he’s attracted to someone.”

“Oh.”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, the rest of his attention remaining on the phone cradled between his hands, thumbs pressing down on the brightly lit keys. “Don’t worry about it John, Mycroft isn’t the type for casual sex and I’m sure he has no intentions towards your Adoptive-Grandfather.”

“I’m not worried about Mycroft’s reaction to Willy. Willy could eat you brother alive if he tried anything forward. I’m mostly just worried what will happen once Willy starts courting him in earnest.”

He shuddered and turned his attention back to his phone. I propped my head on his bony shoulder and went to sleep. Unless Willy interfered there would be plenty of time to catch a nap before we reached the Factory.

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Part 3

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~~~~

Sherlock’s face when he first caught sight of the factory was a sight to behold. On anybody else it would have been a sign of slight unease. For him it was a sign of drop-jawed shock.

I stifled a laugh, not wanting him to run off in a huff, and went to get our luggage out of the trunk.

The gate swung open with a loud creak.

Tossing my messenger bag over my shoulder and settling Sherlock’s bag in the crook of my elbow, I grabbed him by the arm and guided him into the Factory’s courtyard.

The gate swung shut behind us. Sherlock turned to look over his shoulder at it, probably trying to figure out how it had done that.

I wasn’t in a hurry to explain it. I doubted that he’d believe in sentinel Factory’s. Hopefully she’d be able to convince him with her own unique intelligence. “Come on Sherlock, I want you to meet Grandpa Willy.”

The Factory’s door popped open and Willy sprung out, pulling me into a tight hug. Then he grabbed Sherlock in a tight hug. This time Sherlock was shocked enough to let his jaw drop.

I covered my mouth with a hand, and edged around them to enter the factory. The door clanged shut and I was finally able to laugh myself silly. Sherlock's face was just too amusing.

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~~~~

Sherlock settled into the Factory, surprisingly easily. Then again, he didn’t exactly act like an adult and he seemed to understand whatever strange logic ruled Willy's actions.

The Oompas Loompas were particularly pleased with him and as often as I managed to find him, I found them as well.

In all honesty I couldn’t have said if I’d ever seen Sherlock happier than he was in the factory. Far from being bored by being forced to stay in the same place day after day, he seemed to thrive.

Often, I found myself wondering if the factory was playing some roll in his new contentment. If she could make people miserable enough to leave then it probably wouldn’t be hard to make them want to stay.

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~~~~

One day, once I had checked twice to make sure that Sherlock was busy working on a new, working cell phone molded chocolate, I snuck down into the central processing room, where the Factory’s heart dwelled.

Despite living here for two years when Id’ been younger, I ‘d only been to the heart room twice and I hadn’t ever planned on repeating the experience. It was uncomfortable for me looking on something so vast.

Wonka, and maybe Sherlock might be able to look at the room built of spun sugar mirrors and licorice wires and see something great and wonderful, but I could only see the unknowable and feel her mind pounding against mine. I was an ordinary man after all, the only things that me apart were my experiences, but as a woman and as a teenager growing up in the chocolate factory.

Neither of those experiences had been able to prepare me for a direct connection to Her. I couldn’t turn back though, not when Sherlock might be on the line. Walking up to the central panel, a large shaft of peppermint candy with a glowing, round candy glass sheet pressed on top of it, I pressed my hand down. Feeling the sugar warm under my fingers and grow the slightest bit sticky before She finished with her analysis of my handprint and the glowing red stripes of the candy cane turned green.

Garish and overstated but I had to admit it was affective. “What are you doing to Sherlock?” I asked.

A face swirled into being on the spun sugar pain in front of me. It was soft, warm looking but not all together human. “Please state your query again, John Watson.”

“I asked what you were doing to Sherlock.”

“I am looking after him, as Mr. Willy Wonka ordered.” Was all the response I got, as her face began fading off the screen.

She obviously didn’t know me that well if she thought that was all that it would take to dissuade me from asking more questions. “Don’t play with me. He’s not acting like himself. So what did you do?”

The face came back into focus, and gave me a disappointed look. The kind I hadn’t seen used in all the years that had passed since I left my parent’s house. It was ridiculous that it was a living building with a giant, computer mind that finally managed to make me feel guilty.

“How do you know what is normal for him and what is not? You’ve only known him for a handful of weeks. You don’t know everything that he is, or that he does.”

“I know that he isn’t this calm. Not when there isn’t a case to solve.”

Now she was giving me a motherly smile. “I give my residents with anything they want. Anything that is within my power to give them I am willing and able to provide.”

“What are you giving Sherlock, then?”

“I’m giving him as many chances to experiment as he likes, and I do not judge him because he is not like other men. He is one of my children, just as Willy is.”

“And what about me?” I was whining but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I had sacrificed myself for Sherlock, almost died for him and yet I couldn’t give him the one thing he seemed to need. I could practically feel my dreams of spending the rest of my life with him going up in flames.

“I am sorry, my John. You are one of my children too, but there are some things I can not create. Things you want and dream of.”

“I dream of staying with Sherlock. Why can’t you give me that?”

“You’re asking the wrong question.” She said, before fading out again.

And no matter how many times I yelled for her she didn’t come back to the screen. I’d been dismissed and no matter how angry I was, I wasn’t angry enough to force my company on her for longer than I had to. It wasn't like it would bother her if I stayed there and kept yelling, I was the one who would end up suffering for my stubbornness.

So I left, and went to go find Sherlock again. It would be boring watching him try to make the phone work but I didn’t have anything else to do and I wanted to enjoy as much time with him as I could before I was forced to leave the factory, and Sherlock.

  
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~~~~

The next day Sherlock looked at me, His face lit up like a child who'd just gotten his first taste of chocolate. Like heaven was at his fingertips, and asked. "Don't you understand what this means John?"

I wished I had been the one who'd given him this joy. As it was I didn't know what it meant. It was pleasure at the idea of having a mystery to investigate, but it seemed like more than that. "What is it?"

"I never have to be bored again." He crowed, before running off to stoop over the shoulder of an Oompa Loompa who was working on some sort of blue chemical compound that smoked and bubbled.

Never have to be bored again. I knew what happened when Sherlock got bored, but I'd never considered bringing him here to keep him entertained. It was all dead bodies and danger with Sherlock. Not that the Chocolate Factory wasn't dangerous, but I could hope that we didn't end up solving Oompa Loompa murders during our visit.

"I don't think this will be the short visit that you planned."

I jumped to the ceiling, spinning around to face Willy. Who as was his habit had managed to sneak up on me despite the year of training I had received in my absence from the factory. "What do you mean?"

"You can see it can't you? The joy on his face. He doesn't want to leave the factory. And of course I' am hardly going to make him leave." He looked over to wear Sherlock was Harruging some unfortunate Oompa, who was in turn giving him a smile that promised a bloody and properly rhyming revenge." It was like this when I was young and the Factory was still all I needed. I loved it then, the experimenting the boundless possibilities. Your young man is just the same."

"He likes murder, and blood, and body parts in the fridge. Not sweets and childhood wonder."

"True, he's a bit more bloody than I had planned. But I can hardly be picky when it comes to picking an heir." He looked down his long nose at me. His top hat tipped just so to make him look wise and mischievous, like one of Shakespeare fairies. "And I know that you'll be here to keep an eye on him. Just like your grandfather kept an eye on me."

"It's not like that." I immediately replied. Because no matter what the tabloids and rumor mills claimed about Willy and Grandpa Charlie's relationship I knew the truth. Told over the span of hundreds of bed time stories. "We aren't like that."

"You want to be."

Of course he would know that. Just as I was sure that Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, and even Moriarty knew it.

The only one who seemed unaware was the great detective himself. Which was so out of character that I had my doubts about his lack of insight. Surely it would be easier to just pretend not to see rather than have a 'boring' conversation about how he didn't return my feelings. "He's married to his work, and I'm happy to support him."

"Yes, I suppose you are." We stood side by side watching as Sherlock flitted around the room like a giant crow, Oompa Loompas crowding around his feet. Taking turns trying to climb his coat tails without him noticing. A task that was made easier by the way he paced about the room, filming his hands and talking to himself. Willy continued, "But you won't always be happy with it. You'll start to want something more, something he's not giving you. You've already started, or you'd be happy because he is happy."

"I'm fine!" the idea of being without Sherlock."

"There is no shame in it. We all need to be appreciated for what we are, what we do, what we can create. I am appreciated, because my candy brings joy to everyone. I let the idea of being loved rule me. I worked so hard and so long trying to perfect my candy, that my relationship with Charlie was forgotten."

I turned to look at him. He'd never been this honest about what happened before. Not like Grandpa Charlie. "What do you mean?"

He continued to ramble, as though he hadn't heard the question. "You are happy to be put behind his work because it makes him happy, but what makes you happy, John?"

I looked back towards Sherlock, and felt my face soften as it tended to do when I looked at him for too long. "Sherlock makes me happy. Happier than I've ever been."

"What would you do if he disappeared for weeks on end, too busy to spend time with you? What if there was nothing else in the factory, or in your home in London? What would you do?"

"I would—" What would I do? The idea of being without Sherlock made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest and stepped on. The pain was so bad. "I'd do my best to wait for him."

"And if he didn't come back? Didn't even notice the pain he was causing you?"

"I'd have to leave. I couldn't stand it. He's – he's everything."

Willy leaned down until his face was on level with mine and our eyes met. There was something in his gaze. Something old, knowing, and not all together human. I had to wonder how much he'd become a part of the factory in all his years living within her. "Don't let yourself start to hate him. It will hurt both of you as you can't imagine. If he can't be with you in the way you need its better to leave now. "

"I can't."

"I would help you. As would Mycroft. It was amazing how casual he was when offering promises on Mycroft's behalf. Their relationship must have progressed farther than I'd known. Sherlock would be happy here and I could give him a candy so that he wouldn't ever remember what you had. He wouldn't have to miss you. If you wait to long though, nothing I can make will be able to heal a broken heart."

"A broken heart?"

He stood back to his full height and reached up to trace his fingers over the brim of his hat. "Yes, no matter how you love a person. Your heart can still break when their gone. You know that your Uncle

Charlie and I weren't lovers, not as the world defines it, but he was my soul mate all the same. Even if you can't be everything to each other don't let that stop you from trying to be more that simply friends."

I stared at my feet for a moment, planning my reply to that strange statement. But when I looked up Willy had disappeared back to wherever it was he'd come from in the first place. I was alone with the memory of Willy's words and a best friend who didn't even remember that I was there.

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~~~~

“Come on John! We’re going out.” Something pointy and hard poked me in the side.

I cracked my eye open and met Willy, back in his male form and dressed up in his best top hat and suit coat. His cane poked at my side again. “It’s early in the morning Willy and Sherlock and I are on factory arrest until Moriarty is found. Just go ahead and have a good time on your own.” I said, before turning over and pulling my blanket up over my head.

Willy’s cane started poking me in the back. “Willy!”

“Come on, John. The day is still young and I want to meet all of your friends.”

I pulled the blanket down enough that my face was uncovered. “I already told you that I can't go out with you until Moriarty was caught.”

“Then we’d better start working to catch him.” When I couldn’t think of a reply to that he started poking me in the back again.

Until I rolled over and grabbed his cane. “Enough. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to come out with me.”

I started rubbing the bridge of my nose. “What part of this don’t you understand Willy?”

He gave me his best innocent look. Which was no more believable than Sherlock's.

“You're doing this to get Mycroft's attention aren't' you?" Sometimes he was so much like Sherlock it was scary. Though at least he hadn't texted Mycroft randomly to tell him he was about to do something stupid. At least I hoped he hadn't. "Did you tell Mycroft what you were planning?" He just continued to give me an innocent look. It didn't get any more believable. "Fine, I’ll come with you.

Just to make sure you don’t get yourself into any trouble while we’re out. I don’t want to have to explain this to anybody.”

He held up his three fingers with the other two crossed over the palm. “Scout’s honor.”

I didn't bother mentioning that I doubted he'd ever been a scout. I didn’t want to deal with his long, involved explanation of why he still had the right to use the use their oath making gesture. Better to just wait and stem off his mayhem later when he decided to break his supposed 'oath'.

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~~~~

Willy was like Sherlock some times. He approached DA Lestrade’s crime scene with the same kind of drama. Cane twirling round and round and a jaunty whistle on his lips, he had the eyes of every member of Scotland Yard on him as soon as we were in sight.

A few of them glanced at me, but after a quick glance their attention was drawn right back to Willy.

Funny, I’d been expecting more stares. Particularly since I was supposed to be in seclusion with Sherlock.

Willy used the top of his cane to lift the police tape up, over our heads. I ducked in front of him and under the police tape first. Only Sally spared a glare for me, since the rest of the police force was still busy staring at Willy. You’d think he was the first purple suit wearing man they’d ever seen.

“So you must be DA Lestrade! A pleasure to meet you.” He grabbed Lestrade’s hand and started pumping it vigorously. “A dark chocolate lover, I see. Always a good choice.” He pulled a bar of chocolate out from behind Lestrade’s ear.

I had to resist the urge to clap my hand over my face. Willy might share Sherlock’s pension for the dramatics but he definitely didn’t share his sense of cool.

“And a fan of my super-sour jelly babies!” He let go of Lestrade’s hand and grabbed Sally, shaking her hand vigorously and making a bag of said Jelly Babies appear between their clasped hands. I prepared to rescue him when she inevitably kneed him in the balls.

I was shocked when she just smiled. “Well, well, well you just can’t resist picking up crazy men can you John?”

I considered not answering, but she would just get more belligerent if I continued to ignore her. “Sally, I’d like to introduce you to Willy Wonka.”

“You’re kidding right? Everybody knows that Wily Wonka never leaves his factory. So what are you trying to do? This is one of Holmes’ tricks isn’t it?”

“Shut up, Anderson.” Lestrade snapped. Grabbing me by the arm with one hand and Willy with the other he dragged us into an alley far enough away from the crime scene that it would be hard for anyone to overhear what I we were talking about. “What are the twoof you thinking? You know you’re supposed to be in hiding.”

Willy and I shared a look. A couple of eye twitches and a shoulder shrug. We still couldn’t figure out what Lestrade meant. “Lestrade?” I started

“Look, I’m impressed by your disguise." He said to Willy. "It's good, even better than your usual costumes, but how long do you think it will take for Moriarty to figure out what you two are up to. You might not look like yourself, but you didn't even bother to give him a disguise." He pointed his finger in my direction.

“I know I wasn’t supposed to come out of hiding but I don’t see what the big deal is. Moriarty isn't likely to come after me if he can't get Sherlock as well. And we left Sherlock safely back at the safe house.”

“Sure you did.” He nodded his head in Willy’s direction.

“I don't understand your point” Willy said.

He gusted out a sigh. “How stupid do you think I am? I know Sherlock doesn’t keep up with popular culture but was Willy Wonka the best false identity you could come up with?” He asked me.

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand, dear boy. I am Willy Wonka.”

Lestrade started rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “John, can you please try to reason with him?”  
I looked over at Willy again. If he was Sherlock in disguise then I would try to reason with him. I wasn’t sure what to do since it wasn’t Sherlock. I should never have let Willy goad me into this. Things just kept getting weirder and weirder.

Thankfully Mycroft showed up before I managed to figure out what to say. With a dark look and his sheer personal presence he had Lestrade’s full attention with only soft clearing of his throat. “Is there a problem here Detective?”

“Yes, you’re brother is taking stupid risks and dragging Watson down with him.”

Mycroft looked at us over Lestrade’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. My brother isn’t present.”

“What?” Lestrade spun to stare at us. “Then who is?” He pointed at Willy. After a few seconds his jaw dropped.

Interrupting him before he could blurt out the truth, Mycroft said. “If you will excuse us we have places to be. Doctor Watson, I expect you and your companion in my car within the next five minutes. “  
I grabbed Willy’s arm by the wrist and dragged him past Lestrade, Scotland Yard, and the police tape, until we reached Mycroft’s car. I wasn’t surprised when the war swung open before we even reached it, to show Mycroft’s enigmatic assistant.

Willy, on the other hand, was surprised and delighted to see her, and used Mycroft’s absence to discuss possible birthday gifts for ‘Dear Mycroft’. I left him to it. She was more than capable of handling him if she could handle both Holmes brothers.

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~~~~

"I'm thinking about going back to London." I could have broken my plan to Sherlock more gently but I'd been waiting to tell him for three days, while he disappeared into the bowels of the factory without warning. And with only the Oompa Loompas rhyming directions to help me find him I wasn't passing up the opportunity to discuss things with him while he we were sharing dinner.

I hadn't looked to hard after the time they almost made me fall into a vat of fudge in their attempts to give me directions. I couldn’t tell if they'd done it on purpose, on accident, or just thought it was funny. Whatever their reasons they'd made it clear that they weren’t going to help me find my friend, boyfriend, whatever he was to me.

If this is what things had been like for Grandpa Charlie then I could see why he'd left. I loved the factory, but she didn't love me and I had long suspected that it was the factory that made the decisions when it came to these things. Willy had always claimed he was in charge but the fact that the rooms always moved around on him and the factory as he put it 'had opinions' led me to believe that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. And picking her new owner or whatever Willy, and now Sherlock were to her.

Sherlock nodded absently at me eating jelly babies with one hand and scribbling in a notebook with another.

"So you don't have any problem with me going back to London to face Moriarty?"

That got his attention. His head jerked up and he stared at me for a long moment with a jelly-baby half in and half out of his mouth. "Don't be ridiculous, John. Why would you need to go back? We have everything we need to keep busy here."

I wasn't having putting up with being dismissed that easily. "So you don't care about the fact that Moriarty is still out there trying to kill us. You don't want to sneak past Mycroft and his people to go investigate?"

"I'm busy."

It was a statement of fact. He didn't sound the least bit petulant. He always sounded petulant when it came to Moriarty. He'd been that way since he'd first heard the name from the killer cabbie. "So you don't care if I get myself blown up."

"Don't expect me to support you're acting foolishly, John. " He gathered his papers before stomping off, the Oompa Loompas trailing after him. Leaving me alone in the gingerbread walled dining room with my plate full of chocolate and Full-meal gum. A cold knot of dread took up residence in my stomach.

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~~~~

I gave Sherlock a week. During which I attempted to have three more conversations about my returning to London. All of which ended in the same way. Then it was time for me to leave.

Willy was waiting for me in my ice cream mountain room, when I went there to say one last goodbye.

This time I wasn't planning on coming back. "So, you'll be leaving now. Just like Charlie." His cheery tone felt flat, discordant.

"Sherlock doesn’t need me anymore and you're right about what will happen if I stay here."

He looked down at his purple boots, clicking the heels together like Dorothy wishing that she could find her way back home. "I'd hoped I was wrong, but your Sherlock is much like me I'm afraid, and the Factory needs someone to run her."

It felt like sacrilege to ask, but I wasn't ready to give up just yet. "Is there anyway to break the hold it has on him? Some way to get him back?"

"You could destroy her, I suppose, but I don't know if even that would work. The stories say that I made her, but it's not that simple. I made a chocolate seed full of all my hopes and dreams. All the warmth that chocolate could bring to a person's heart. I'd thought that perhaps I would be able to grow a chocolate tree if I could just find the right bit of magic. But a factory grew up instead. It was more than I'd thought was possible. Everything I dreamed of it brought to me. "

He seemed so sad Even his hat seemed to droop. I sat down beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. His bent his neck so that his head rested on top of mine. His top hat fell to the side, rolling on its brim until it fell over the edge of the bed.

"But it couldn't give me everything you understand. It couldn't give me a companion. It brought me the Oompas and for I time that seemed like enough. But in the end it wasn't. The Oompa Loompas are kind and mischievous, but they aren't human. Not in the way you or I would define it anyway. They are marvelous folk, but I do get lonely on occasion."

  
"So you sent out the Golden Tickets."

His boney chin dug into my skull as he nodded. "We'd agreed to send the workers away. They were stealing from me and upsetting the chocolate, and that just wouldn't do, but I'd hoped that if I could find a child she'd be able to love them like she loved me."

"Why couldn't she?" I asked. I'd long wondered from Grandpa Charlie's stories why he hadn't been able to stay in the factory, it seemed like it should have been enough even if Willy hadn't been enough to make him happy. When I'd come here when I was a child it had seemed a grand place of wonder and magic. Now everything good and bright was locked away from me.

"Oh, she did love Charlie dearly. That didn't change until after he'd become an adult. He was a lovely young man but had an unfortunate penchant for being logical and responsible." He winked at me. "Just like you are. She can't abide logic. I think it offends her. For all he's a logical man, your Sherlock isn't ruled by the way things 'should be' the same way you are. "

I'd always prided myself on being a logical man. Now I wished I hadn't tried so hard. Maybe if I hadn't I would have been able to stay.

"I'm sorry John, I never meant for you to be hurt like this. I promise that when I sent you the basket and invitation to come for a visit I didn't realize that your friend would become a part of her. From all of your letters I hadn’t thought he would be the type."

Neither had I. "I don't blame you Willy. I blame the Factory."

He held me tighter. "Are you going to try to destroy her?" I wished I could see his twinkling eyes so that I could tell if he was afraid or angry.

"No, I couldn't." No matter how much I hated her, I could still remember the welcome she'd given me when I'd first come and all the amazing stories Grandpa used to tell. How could I take that opportunity away from any other unfortunate child who made their way to her gates? "She's too important."

There was the press of lips against my hair. "Thank you John."

I couldn’t say he was welcome. Not now. "I'm not going to come back though. At least not for a long time. I can't stand the pain or take the change of her taking something else from me. Not after she kept you away from Grandpa Charlie and now me away from Sherlock."

"I understand, though I do ask that you let me come visit you sometimes."

"Really? You never leave the factory." Well perhaps not never, but it certainly didn't happen that often and he'd never been one to come to family functions.

"Really. I can trust that the factory is being looked after now."

I was sure that he didn't mean to rub in Sherlock's decision to stay, but it still hurt. I shoved myself away from him, standing up and heading for the door. Planning to collect my bags from my new room before I left. "I'll be leaving soon. Can I trust you and the Factory to look after Sherlock?"

"You have my word. As long as you promise to look after dear Mycroft for me in return."

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~~~~

I walked out of the factory's doors and into a bitingly cold winter day. Just like all the others that had defined my life. I was too practical to let the sense of deja'vu keep me from moving. If I stopped I'd be tempted to stay, so I just kept walking, not looking back at the factory until I'd reached the gates. Which swung open of their own accord.

There was a black car waiting for me and in front of its open back door, Mycroft stood with his umbrella. I walked towards him. Only then did I risk glancing back over my shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Willy or Sherlock. There was nothing but the high brick walls and smoke stacks of the factory. The same as they had always been.

The gates shut with a final sounding clang. I'd been cut off from the factory and Sherlock with it.  
I never should have taken Willy up on his offer to take us in. I would have stood there, contemplating all that had gone wrong since Moriarty had first come into my life and strapped a bomb to my chest, if Mycroft hadn’t interfered.

He grabbed my hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll see them both again soon. I give you my word.”

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Part 4  
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Strangely enough, he was as good as his word. Something I would never have expected from Mycroft, who's only interest in me seemed to be wither or not I'd be able to help Sherlock. Though his understanding behavior might have had something to do with the fact that travelling with me gave him an excuse to see both Sherlock, who still considered Mycroft his arch-nemesis, and Willy.

But as these things usually did, the visits petered out. From once a week to once a month, to barely every six months. It wasn't that we didn't care for each other any more. The four of us were so wrapped up in each other's lives there wasn't any point in trying to escape. It was just that as time passed, it became easier to make excuses so that we didn't have to see each other.

He wasn't getting older and it hurt to see him so happy and young when I felt like the world was draining me of everything vital, now that I didn't have Sherlock to live for. Mycroft found me a job in an out of the way Surgery far from London and Moriarty's stomping ground.

It seemed to appease the evil mastermind, at least enough that he never did anything too noticeable, or sent any of his spies to beat me up. I was sure they were around, just waiting for Sherlock to come visit me, but they weren't worth sparing much thought to. Not when I knew Sherlock wasn't going to visit.  
I met Mary Morstan almost exactly two years after I left the factory. Sherlock and I had settled for corresponding through text messages and the occasion comment on my blog. It wasn't ideal, but it was enough to let me know that he was okay and continuing to thrive under Willy, and the factory's, watchful eyes.

Mary showed up at my surgery as a secretary. She didn't like to speak about what she'd done before and I found myself letting it go with unexpected ease. Her unusual entrance into the Surgery made me suspect either Mycroft or Moriarty's hand in her hiring, but once she managed to stay for more than a few weeks I decided that either way she if wasn't enough of a threat for Mycroft to get rid, there was nothing for me to worry about.

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~~~~

"Doctor Watson?" Mary knocked gently on my open office door.

I glanced up from my paperwork. My eyes were gritty and the Surgery had closed down two hours before. I should have gone home then, but it was easier to just say I was going to look through one more file. And then one more file after that.

I didn't want to go back to my empty flat with cold tea and beans on toast. Nor did I want to sit alone in a restaurant and remember my awkward dinners with Sherlock. Even here, hours away from London, I couldn't escape my memories of him. "Yes Mary?"

"Do you think maybe you should go home?"

"I will in a little while." I turned back to my paperwork, trying to act like my attention wasn't entirely on

Mary, waiting to hear her leave so that I could relax again.

She didn't move for a long moment. Then, instead of leaving, she stepped further into my office. "I was thinking that we might could go out to dinner together."

"I'm busy, but thank you for the offer." I did my best to be polite despite wanting to just scream at her to go away. We needed to work together and dismissing her out of hand would only bring bad feelings.

"Please Doctor? You'd be doing me a real favor."

There wasn't a polite way to say no after that.

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~~~~

Mary rested her head against the car window. I couldn't see her face but given past history I was willing to bet that she was glaring at Anthea. Despite Mycroft and my attempts the two of them had never managed to get along. Tough neither of us were quite sure why. Well Mycroft claimed he didn't know. I knew better than to think I'd ever know the truth on that front.

We'd gotten close over the years, but there were limits.

"I still don't see why you let him drag us out here."

"I told you, I had someone I wanted you to meet." I replied. I'd never been able to come up with a good way to explain Willy to her. She knew about Sherlock, but there was knowing about him and then there was meeting him.

"So you had us kidnapped."

"Don't be so impolite, Miss Morstan"

She rolled her eyes at him and slumped back down against the window. This family visit was already turning into a complete disaster.

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Willy and Sherlock met us at the Factory gates. Willy in his purple suit, cane polished to a fine shine, and Sherlock in his velour robe.

Mary, who was as casually and properly dressed as ever stared at them in obvious amazement. The proper thing to do would be to make the proper introductions but it had been to long since I had seen either of them. I pulled Willy a tight hug before gripping Sherlock's hand for a shake and using it to leverage him into a hug as well.

"John?"

Mary's quavering call was enough to pull me away from feeling Sherlock's bony form and smelling his distinctive scent.

I pulled away trying to come up with a suitable explanation for who Willy was and what Sherlock meant to me.

Sherlock was too quick for me, you'd barely be able to tell he'd been languishing in the Factory for three years as quick as his wits still were. "You must be John's new interest. I am Sherlock Holmes a friend of your fiancé's."

"Sherlock!" I snapped even though I couldn't make myself let go of the hold I had on his shoulder.

He just gave me a look. "Very well. If you would like to follow me and John, I'll show you the factory."

"What about Mycroft?" She asked.

He snorted and didn't reply.

When I looked over to see if I could figure out what he was implying I found Willy and Mycroft sharing a heated kiss while Anthea leaned against the fenced and typed away on her blackberry.

I grabbed Mary and dragged her after Sherlock as she seemed more interested in staring in slack jawed shock at the two of them. Once we were out of ear shot she leaned over and whispered into my ear. "Who is that man? I never thought I'd see Mycroft so." She seemed to loose either her train of thought or track of a polite way to describe Mycroft's dalliance.

"He's Willy Wonka."

"No, really."

He didn't bother saying anything else. Though I was pretty sure I heard another snort.

She turned to me, with a raised eyebrow.

"He really is."

"Right…and I suppose this is his magical Factory."

"That's right."

This time it was Mary that snorted. That changed once we followed Sherlock into the factory. She stared as we entered the firs, huge hallway and watched in a mixture of awe and shock as we went through the trick doors and the ever downward leading hallways towards the chocolate river and candy meadow.

Sherlock stayed in front of us, so that his face wasn’t' visible, but I knew him well enough to recognize the proud way he walked. Normally it meant that he'd solved some great crime, but this time he seemed to just be preening at having gotten one over on Mary, for no particular reason.

I just followed the two of them, glad to feel the warmth of the factory again.

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"Why did you bring her here, John?" He didn't look at me, instead keeping his attention on his beakers of chocolate and sugar.

I hopped up onto the stool next to him. "I just wanted her to know the truth."

"If you just wanted tell her the truth you would have just told her to start with."

"She wouldn't have believed me. We're talking about Willy Wonka's legendary factory at all."

"There are other ways of making her believe you. You wanted me to meet her, and for her to meet me. That's why you haven't proposed yet."

"I wish you hadn't made that fiancé comment." I leaned over to rest my head against his shoulder. It didn't make the best of pillows but it still felt comforting after so long.

"Then you shouldn't be so obvious about your plans. And really, must you carry the ring in your pocket wherever you go?"

I pulled it out of my pocket and cracked the jewelry case's lid so that I could stare at the ring inside. "What else would I do with it?"

"Try, she is a curious woman and you're frighteningly dull when it comes to hiding places."

I sighed. "So what do you think?"

"I think she's as dull as you are. I don't see why you want to spend time with her instead of staying in the factory with me."

Sometimes I didn't know either, but then I remembered how out of place I'd felt when I'd tried to spend a few months here. It wasn't that I didn't love Sherlock, Willy, even the factory. I just couldn't stand being useless. At least with Mary I felt needed. "It's complicated."

"Boring."

That almost got a chuckle out of me. I leaned further into his body and let myself relax into his side. He shifted a bit to take more of my weight and I let myself doze a bit to the sound of his messing about.

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It was just as well that Sherlock and I got our issues worked out on the first night of our stay. I rarely saw him after that. He made some excuses about some sort of experiment with bees. Which Willy corroborated.

I took that as a sign to work on deepening my relationship with Mary. This trip was supposed to help me determine if I really could propose to Mary.

I loved her as a dear friend, it would never be the same kind of soul deep bond I had with Sherlock, but being different didn't make it worse. She was a wonderful woman and I felt that I could trust her and enjoy her company. If we were to have kids, she would be an ideal mother.

But there would still be times when I would want to visit Sherlock, or come for a stay at the factory. It wouldn't be often, I'd grown used to being away, but even though decades had passed since I first came to the factory, I had never been able to completely forget it.

I'd given up trying. Mary at least didn't seem too off-put, as I showed her around. She enjoyed the quiet of the candy meadow, and many a morning when I woke up, she'd already abandoned our shared to go, read by the waterfall.

The factory seemed to like her as well. She had at least avoided doing anything bad to her. Even when she wandered around on her own. More and more often I found myself pulling the ring box out of my pocket and staring at it, thinking about ways to propose, but nothing seemed quite right. No matter how much I wanted to be engaged to Mary before we left the Factory.

The day before we were set to leave, I still hadn't managed to propose.

That morning when I got up, Mary was gone as usual, but unlike usual I wasn't alone in the room.

Sherlock had somehow managed to sneak in while I was asleep. "You know I'm pretty sure that you're not supposed to be here."

"Why haven't you proposed yet?"

I tossed the blanket off and headed for the bathroom, not bothering to feel embarrassed about Sherlock seeing me in just my briefs. "I'm been busy."

He snorted, and when I glanced out of the crack between the bathroom door and the door jam, I saw him sprawled out in the chair with his fingers steepled in front of him. I left him to his ponderings.

When I got back out of the bathroom the ring box was missing. It didn't take a genius of Sherlocks' caliber to figure out where it had gone.

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So I wasn't all that surprised when it showed up next to my plate that night. Or when a violin wielding Sherlock entered the dinning room and began to play a romantic tune.

Though I did manage to feel shocked when Willy and Mycroft showed up in traditional 'watering' penguin suits. I raised an eyebrow at Mycroft, asking him how he'd managed to get dragged into this craziness. The heated look he gave Willy gave me a much more detailed answer than I needed. Though it didn't really surprise me that the two of them were into role-playing.

Carefully not meeting Willy's eyes, since I was pretty sure I'd blush hard enough to combust, I cleared my voice and stood up. Strode over to Mary's chair and fell to one knee. "Mary Morstan will you marry me?"

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Epilogue

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Despite only being five years old, my grandson, Sherlock, took after his namesake to a frightening extent. Right down to the fake innocent look he loved to use against me.

Which he was doing now, in an attempt to get out of having to go to bed so early. "Just one more story Grandpa John? Please? I want to hear about Sherlock and his amazing Chocolate Factory.

I sighed, but settled myself onto the bed beside him. I was completely helpless against that look. " When I was a little boy I loved Grandpa Charlie best of all."


End file.
